Page 126 of Into the Fire

“Agreed. And I could also use some advice. I’ve been trying to figure out what to tell Nan, but my brain’s fried. I thought I’d tap into your sound thinking.”

“What are your instincts telling you?”

He released his hold on her, leaned back, and picked up his coffee. “I’ve always tried to be honest with her, but I don’t tell her everything—especially about my job. Why make her worry more than she already does? In terms of the fire, she accepted long ago it would never be solved. Made her peace with that. Stirring it all up again could reopen old wounds.”

“Or provide closure.” Bri leaned toward him. “You told me your grandparents prayed that whoever had set the fire would repent and seek forgiveness. It may comfort her to know that prayer was answered.”

He took a long draw on his coffee. Stared into the half-empty mug. “I did think about that on the drive home, but you want the truth? Butler may have squared himself with God, but he didn’t have as much success with me. If Nan asks, I’ll have to admit I couldn’t summon up the compassion to forgive him—as she no doubt will, once she hears his story.”

“Would she hold that against you?”

“No. That’s not her style. But she’d be disappointed.”

A man who worried about disappointing his grandmother.

Touching.

Bri picked up her own coffee and carefully composed herreply. “I think your concern about not living up to your grandmother’s high standards is a testament to your character and your compassion.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “I appreciate the flattering take, but there’s also a bit of ego involved.”

“You’re honest too. Another fine quality.”

“But what does it say about me that after all these years I can’t dredge up one ounce of mercy for a man who never intended for his actions to have fatal consequences and who spent the rest of his life following the straight and narrow?”

“It says you’re human. Forgiveness is hard. I’ve never gotten there with my father, either.”

“You have scant evidence he ever reformed.”

“That’s not supposed to be a requirement for forgiveness.” She sipped her coffee. Refocused on the matter at hand. “Here’s my two cents. Give yourself time to digest this new information. See how you feel about it in a week ... or a month ... or a year. Our faith may tell us to forgive seventy times seven, but as far as I know, there’s no timetable attached to that.”

The corners of his mouth rose again. “I knew you’d offer wise advice.”

Warmth filled her. “Suggestion, not advice. What are you going to do about your grandmother?”

He drained his mug, stood, and tugged her to her feet. “I’m going to tell her the truth. You’re right on that score too. I think it will comfort her to know her prayers were answered, even if my ego takes a hit. Walk me to the door?”

He was leaving already?

Well, of course he was. He’d gotten up before dawn, spent eight hours behind the wheel of his car, listened to a man confess to murder, and now he had to share that news with his grandmother. He couldn’t sit around here all day with her, much as she might want him to.

“Sure.” She followed him to the foyer. “Let me know how it goes with your grandmother.”

“I will.” He paused on the threshold and turned toward her. “Are we still on for a date next Saturday?”

“Absolutely.”

“I was on the verge of calling you yesterday to set up concrete plans when Joseph Butler’s daughter contacted me.”

“I can see why that would have been distracting.”

“So is a certain fire investigator.” He reached up and fingered a few strands of her hair. “What do you say to a picnic in the wine country?”

“I’m in.”

“Let’s make a day of it.”

“Sounds great.”

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